Presenting the latest from Eraserhead Press and Kirsten Alene: MOON SNAKE!
My mother always said, “Nothing as sad as a moth that thinks it’s found the moon in a candle flame.” And that is who I am, or who I am meant to have been. I whisper under my breath, “Moon in a candle flame, moon in a candle flame.” And it’s true. It’s sad but also beautiful.
Get your copy at Amazon so you can feel Kirsten’s strange sadness!
by Cliff Winnig, Nick Mamatas, Cameron Pierce and Kirsten Alene
Here’s a special treat from the World Fantasy Convention in San Diego, California.
When I saw Kreayshawn walk down the street, I called out to her—“Hey, Kreayshawn how’s it going?” But the bitch just ignored me.
Later, about seventeen feet down Broadway, I saw a crayfish. This is always happening in Louisiana. “Hey crayfish!” I said, “how’s it going?” But the bitch just ignored me.
That night I went down to the lagoon. I said, “Hey lagoon.” But the lagoon just ignored me. Bitch-goon.
So I went home. I looked in the mirror and said, “Hey me.” And my reflection said, “I ain’t talkin’ to you no more. You’re the bitch.” I stared in the mirror a long time. But the real bitch is, my reflection was right. I was the bitch. Ain’t that a bitch. So I went to bed.
Please call me, Kreayshawn.
Cameron Pierce is the editor of Lazy Fascist Press and the author of Cthulhu Comes to the Vampire Kingdom, The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island, Lost in Cat Brain Land, and other books.
Kirsten Alene is the author of Love in the Time of Dinosaurs.
Cliff Winnig is an author, dancer, and sitar player. His short fiction appears in many places, including The Aether Age: Helios (Hadley Rille Books/M-Brane Press), Footprints (Hadley Rille Books), and Jack-o’-Spec, Retro Spec, and Cinema Spec (Raven Electrick Ink).
Nick Mamatas is the author of many books including Under My Roof, Move Under Ground, and most recently The Damned Highway (with Brian Keene).
Kreayshawn is a gangster, a music video director, and a rapper.
by Kirsten Alene
A woman gives birth to a golden swan in her sleep and wakes to find it wrapped around her stomach like a winter sweater. The swan’s feathers are the softest, palest gold she has ever seen. The swan coos lovingly and nestles closer to the woman. The woman feels disoriented. She cannot remember having been pregnant with a swan. She cannot remember having had intercourse with any entity likely to leave the seed of a golden swan in her womb. The woman cries in confusion. The swan gently licks away the woman’s tears and sings her to sleep. The contractions begin again. Another feathery head is crowning.
The latest issue of The Magazine of Bizarro Fiction is now available! This one is guest-edited by Cameron Pierce.
Feature Novella: The Obsese by Shirley Jackson Award-winner Nick Antosca. Imagine The Birds with obese people instead of birds and you’ll have a slight idea of what this brilliant social satire is all about.
Fiction by Stephen Graham Jones, Bradley Sands, Andersen Prunty, R.J. Sevin, Matty Byloos, J. David Osborne, Kirsten Alene, a collaborative story by Alan M. Clark and Jeremy Robert Johnson, and an exclusive excerpt from Sam Pink’s forthcoming novel, The No Hellos Diet.
Non-Fiction by Douglas Lain, Molly Tanzer, Patrick Wensink, J. David Osborne, and Caris O’Malley.
The author spotlight this issue is on multi-talented bizarro favorite Andrew Goldfarb.
Greetings Smutzarros, I’m Cam Kirkeron. No, you don’t recognize me, I’m not someone famous. I am but a simple man on a crusade. You’ve clearly landed on this webpage because you got distracted from your daily pornography searches. I’m here on this digital den of sin and vice because I am in possession of certain photographical evidence depicting the administrators of this website in compromising positions. Hence, my appearance in this most unlikely of pulpits.
I had the misfortune of becoming aware of this “genre” of “literature” through the work of one Steve Lowe, whose quote-unquote book “Muscle Memory” goes to great lengths to slander several well-known and morally-astute celebrities with lies, innuendo and crude toilet humor. Normally, I let this sort of thing slide off my back and pray that the hearts and minds of such wayward sheep will one day be shepherded back into His Heavenly fold.
But this egregious affront to decency and wholesomeness known as Bizarro fiction simply cannot stand any longer. Of particular note is this offshoot of Smutzarro that calls itself “The New Bizarro Author Series”. What twisted mind thought up this crude form of hazing, unleashing desperate losers into the world to harass and harangue decent folk into sullying their hearths and hearts with the mere presence of such distasteful, disgusting, damaging material, all for the sake of earning a contract to create even more filth? According to my detailed investigation of the matter, one Kevin Donihe can be held most accountable.
Take this current batch of NBAS swill. They have the nerve to call themselves the Magnificent Seven, though I’d be shocked to learn if any of them can count that high. Seven books of such atrocious subject matter, such that I can hardly describe. But for the good of decency on the Internet, I will soldier forward and do just that, detailing the lowlights of these filth-filled tomes.
First you have Eric Hendrixson’s “Bucket of Face”. This piece of pseudo fiction glorifies the life of a known sex offender and explicitly depicts an act of sexual congress between a man and a Kiwi fruit. Imagine your children getting their hands on this “Bucket of Sin”. This Hendrixson character has also gone so far as to offer cheap swag on Facebook to anyone who will “Like” his trash. So add bribery to his long list of flaws.
Then there’s Nicole Cushing’s “How to Eat Fried Furries”. Religion-hating, British-Comedy-imitating, hack-television-script-writing, indecipherable noise slapped onto paper. Trees died to make this thing come to life. And all this from a seemingly nice woman. Shocking to see members of the fairer sex involved in this depravity.
But not as shocking as this next entry, from fresh-faced youngster, Kirsten Alene. “Love in the Time of Dinosaurs” is about evil dinosaurs (devil lizards? OK, I can see that), indestructible monks (members of the clergy with super powers bestowed upon them by a higher authority? Yeah, I can get behind that!), and a forbidden love affair betwixt the two. Wait, what? Oh, Ms. Alene, what a shame. You were actually going somewhere, but then you fell on the crutch of the weak: violence, vulgar language and forbidden relations between species. What must your mother think?
When it comes to Caris O’Malley, I am of the opinion that he was not born to a proper mother – clearly he is the spawn of the Dark Lord, hatched from an egg just like in his book “The Egg Said Nothing”. Time-traveling loser repeatedly beats himself to death with a shovel, all the while cursing a blue streak and fornicating with a tramp? The O’Malley clearly says nothing of substance or value to humanity with this hot garbage.
But he’s not even the worst one. This Kirk Jones guy wrote a story about couches having… well, I just can’t bring myself to type such a thing. Reading “Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals” is like riding a bullet train straight to Hell. And Jones is in the engineer’s seat, using a noble charity to help disseminate his furniture fornication (I hereby dub the term DavenPorn) to the world.
Of course, DavenPorn pales in comparison to the unholy tripe authored by James Steele. “Felix and the Sacred Thor” is the most disgusting, demented and disturbed offering of the lot, glorifying the use of huge animal (I shudder to even consider this word) dildos as weapons, and the ritual sodomizing of America’s retail workforce (haven’t those people suffered enough?). A tenth circle of Hell awaits you, Mr. Steele.
And that brings us back to the beginning, and in my opinion, the worst of the lot. Steve Lowe’s Muscle Memory does not go to the extremes of James “the Damned” Steele, or Kirk “The Devil is in Mr.” Jones. And that’s what makes it so insidious and dangerous. I’ll confess that I snicker at the occasional fart joke like anyone else, but hear this: No one makes fun of Kirk Cameron and Terry Bradshaw on my watch! Help me rid the world of this trash. Burn it and light the night sky with our cleansing flames. Fire shall make you new again.
Now, go be productive and stop surfing for porn, or you’ll end up like one of these Smutzarros.